Page 98 of The Cruel Highlander's Bride
“Right here, Faither, right here,” Ciara cried as she brought her face into his line of vision.
He let out a heavy sigh. “Good, good,” he said, patting her hand, before closing his eyes once more.
Lana took a deep breath, and Lady Gunn was openly crying now, too, relief shining in their eyes as they embraced each other.
“Thank ye,” Alexander said to Magnus. “Thank ye for savin’ her. I would not have been able to save them both, and I never would have forgiven meself if somethin’ happened to her…”
“It was me honor,” Magnus replied, a hand on his heart.
Ciara leaned over for another hug from her brother. “Ye did the right thing,” she whispered. “We’re both goin’ to be all right because of ye.”
Still, no one made any move to leave the room until Lady Gunn straightened and faced them all. “He’s goin’ to be all right. And there’s no sense in all of us waitin’ around for him to wake up again. Everyone needs to clean up and get some rest,” she ordered.
When everyone made to protest, she shot them a chastising glance, and Ciara and her siblings acquiesced.
Magnus leaned in towards Ciara. “Do ye want to go back to the castle? We can come back in the mornin’.”
Ciara heaved another sigh but didn’t turn to face him. There was enough to be worried about without adding the her husband’s dishonesty to the mix. She wanted a bath and a night in her own bed, not a confrontation about everything she’d seenbeforeEwan had kidnapped her.
When Magnus had saved her, she had let herself get caught up in the moment, had let him kiss her and had kissed him back with just as much passion. But they both had just been caught up in the rush and had needed an outlet for their heightened feelings.
It didn’t mean anything, it couldn’t mean anything, not with all of his late-night activities.
“Nay,” she finally replied.
She did not want to go back to his castle tonight—maybe never again.
36
Nay.
The word rang in Magnus’s head as he tried to understand everything she wasn’t saying.
Was she worried still about her father? He could understand that… well, theoretically, not from his own experience, of course. It was possible she wanted to stay here, close to her father, and make sure he was all right. But she had also had a traumatic experience today, and Magnus just wanted to soothe her and get her someplace she could relax.
He envisioned taking her back to their castle and recreating the bath they’d had in the village, just with his much larger tub and his fanciest oils. He could rub the tension from her shoulders until she melted against him.
With his head, he gestured for Ciara to follow him out of the healer’s room, and she mercifully agreed. The rest of her siblings solemnly left the room as well, leaving her mother to watch over Laird Gunn.
Ciara led them to a sitting room a bit away, where they could talk in private.
“Ye dinnae want to go home?” Magnus asked again when they were alone.
“Iamhome,” she replied confidently, clenching her fists at her sides.
The fire in her gaze was staggering, and the words pierced his heart. He paused. She still did not consider MacLeon Castle her home. Had he misunderstood everything between them somehow?
“What do ye mean, lass?” he asked quietly, trying not to let his hurt show, but his heart was racing.
She crossed her arms over her chest, and despite her smaller height, she seemed to stare him down at that moment. “I ken about the brothel,” she said, looking him in the eye.
“What is it that ye think ye ken, lass?” Magnus asked darkly.
The insinuation was right there in her eyes, but he wanted her to say it out loud. He wanted to twist the knife a bit further and make her admit exactly what she thought she knew.
His wife, never one to back down, kept on staring right through his soul as she said, “We’ve yet to consummate our marriage, and yet ye leave at night to visit brothels. What else is there to ken?”
Even though it was his question that forced this truth from her lips, each word felt like a blow. That she would think him capable of straying like that was breaking his heart.
